I have asked the teachers to send me examples of work the students are doing so I could post them here on the NMS blog to show off the great work we are doing here at Nichols.
Ms. Tricia Flaherty from the 8th Grade Comets Team has taken me up on this offer. Please check out the description from Ms. Flaherty and then the essay itself; it is exactly what we are looking for at NMS to speak to student success. Thanks.
This year the PTSA brought the Anne Frank traveling exhibit to NMS. Students were chosen to be docents and trained to conduct tours throughout the school day. One student, Hannah McCarthy, had the pleasure of touring to Holocaust survivors through the museum. This experience touched her and she chose chose to write her first English essay about it. Hannah's essay is a personal narrative, which is a narrative that tells the story of an experience significant to the writer. Hannah captured this moment and tells a truly touching and heartfelt story.
Hannah McCarthy
October 25, 2012
Period 1 / 2
Forever Imprinted
Each of us walks through life with a memory looming deeply within
our consciousness, dictating the actions that identify us as individuals. I
would finally be defined by a brief moment of life. A moment caged between
walls lined with jet lockers, protected by the grasps of shining metal. A
moment that I would morally cling to each day.
I paced across the shaggy, grey carpet, enclosed in a maze of
canvas panels, dotted with colorless pictures. Hastily, I scanned the florescent walls, a
neon poster reflecting in two vast pools of hazel. "NMS Anne Frank Exhibit," it read. The
crooked line then continued, "Student Docents Available." I had once
been eager to spread the information I had acquired, but today my spine quivered
in fear. Clumsily, I fumbled index cards through my fingers, straining to
remember the
tedious notes I had taken days before-hand. I am only (1 child, I thought. How
could I be
expected to recite these notes to a pair of Holocaust survivors? They will
surely know when I mess up!
My thoughts were interrupted by a velvety voice,
"Hello," it beckoned. The Nathansen's... here, already, even
the voice inside my head failed to keep a steady tone. Anxiously, I made my
way across
the exhibit to find a. man and a woman, the crooks of their elbows linked
together. Both wore warm smiles, framed with creases of age. Their brilliant
smiles eased the tension in my nerves and I stuffed the written notes into the depths of my
denim pocket, my confidence growing.
I smiled gently, leading the pair through the hall; a weaving
tunnel of linoleum. A dim light overhead spread across the guest book,
patiently awaiting recognition. Mrs. Nathansen reached for the pen, signing her
name in neat cursive. I studied her signature, harrowing memories leaking from
behind the careful print. The name’s symbolism sent an icy chill down the
length of my spine, as the images of the Holocaust flashed before my eyes. I
had been fascinated by the Holocaust, devoting a greater portion of my day to
research, mostly because I could not wrap my mind around the realism of the
genocide. But, those words held a significant meaning. The name was a window
into the unfathomable pain endured in one lifetime, the grueling torture plaguing
a past, but yet, the hope of tomorrow.
A swirl of thoughts circled my pounding head, and with multiple
hasty blinks of my eyes, I became aware of my surroundings. I had noticed the
tone in the silent stricken room, and immediately began to recite the exhibit’s purpose, emphasizing the
enthusiasm in my voice. A dainty hand cupped over my shoulder as I turned to find carmine
lips, curled into a faint smile. "If you’re going to be my tour guide, we have to do this
right," Mrs. Nathansen voiced memories of pain buried beneath the gentle
expression she wore. Gingerly, she tugged on the sleeves of her sable jacket,
revealing a small series of numbers, crawling diagonally up the inside of her
arm. The
sight burned a hole into my heart, and my vision blurred, as salty tears
created glue holding my eyelashes in thick spikes. Slowly, I raised my head, my eyes
locking into the pale blue orbs of Mrs- Nathansen's eyes, and we both nodded as if we had not just
met today. And the tattoo was once again disguised under the layer of corduroy.
From that day forward I continued my life as if a tattoo was
burned into the pale skin of my forearm. The fact that human beings, just as
myself, had created the hate that was responsible for murders that would plague
generations to come, was despicable. However, I felt empowered, I could be the
change that ceases the present world's malevolence. And just like the ink
crawling down Mrs. Nathansen's arm, I was permanently changed.
